Beyond My Control
by Pandora147
Summary: Mega fan boy Troy is obsessed with super star Sharpay. He thinks they’re meant to be – but soon learns that matters of the heart are beyond his control, especially when it comes to Sharpay’s maid, none other than Gabriella Montez. TxG, M for naughtiness


**BEYOND MY CONTROL**

**Summary: **Troy is a mega fan boy obsessed with super star Sharpay. He thinks that they're meant to be together - but soon learns that matters of the heart are beyond his control; especially when it comes to Sharpay's maid, none other than Miss Gabriella Montez

**Rated: **M for coarse language, sexual situations and insanity

**Disclaimer: **Sorry Disney for making anyone think that you could be affiliated with this writing atrocity

**AN**: Uh… yeah. Clearly I lost my mind. This is kinda an alternate universe of Sharpay's fantasy world. I mean technically in the IWIA fantasy I think the concept is meant to be that they all grow up and leave high school and this is who they all become but this is based on a concept where they didn't all know each other or whatever. Anyway this is seriously crazy and I just threw it together and… yeah. Just something fun. And also I really wanted to experiment with first person, I normally really don't like it at all, it's not a strength of mine at all and I rarely enjoy it in other peoples work, but I still think its worthwhile experimenting with alternate styles in non-serious formats while I can. So yeah... please acknowledge that I seriously just threw this together and I'm not claiming it to be all that great. Just a bit of fun that I thought I'd share just coz I can :-)

**Dedication**: This is for the Fan Forum girls… and is in celebration of me branching out beyond the fan fiction thread. :-P

* * *

Troy Bolton. 21 years of age. Floppy chestnut hair. Blue eyes. Likes include the beach, basketball, and World of Warcraft. Dislikes include spiders, grapefruit and girls who put frangipanni stickers on their cars.

A typical Saturday would involve spending some time on the net, doing some studying, maybe a work shift, listening to the albums and watching the DVDs with my favourite singer slash actress.

A typical Saturday would _not_ normally include fooling around with the hot maid slash personal assistant of my favourite singer slash actress.

And yet, that was exactly what my Saturday was entailing.

The ministrations of her slender, dextrous fingers – even through my black jeans – had succeeded in the formation of a massive erection which was now straining to be released from its prison. As our lips moved together in a furious dance, my hands were busy caressing and touching and feeling as much of her body as possible. This beautiful Goddess was giving herself to me and it was as though I didn't know where to begin, where I wanted to touch her more. My left hand was working on the zipper on the back of her maid dress, while my right hand was more preoccupied with making its way up her leg, dipping above the lacy frill at the bottom of the skirt and gradually climbing. Her own fingers had moved to grasp onto my fly, popping open the top button then the zipper coming down. My blue plaid cotton boxers failed to conceal the evidence of my raging erection – which she looked at with a sudden lust, a lust which nearly sent me over the edge.

"Oh fuck, Miss Montez…"

"Gabriella, it's Gabriella," she purred, before stepping forward and grasping at the waistband of my boxers.

And so here I was, in a closet inside of Sharpay's house. That's right, I, Troy Bolton, was inside of SHARPAY'S house. But it wasn't Sharpay who I was thinking about. It was this perfect specimen of a woman who was removing my boxers, who was kneeling on the floor, whose mouth was…

I've jumped ahead.

Allow me to go back.

* * *

It's funny how life can change so drastically, without your say and beyond your control. One day I was a regular college student at the University of Southern California in Los Angeles. I'd been recruited to play college basketball, my game was at its best and still improving, I was just starting my major in Biokinesiology and Physical Therapy. Really nothing particularly out of the ordinary about my life. And then in the strangest of ways, my life was changed forever.

* * *

It all started when my friend Chad insisted that I should come along to this concert he had obtained tickets to. After high school, to everyone's surprise he'd decided against the basketball route and instead opted for a career in law enforcement, and now, he was known as Officer Chad. Evidently he'd assisted the fire department in rescuing a cat from a tree. The owner of the cat was a publicist for a singer and offered Chad tickets to her concert out of gratitude. Chad invited me to come along with him, the tickets were free, so I figured why not tag along. I hadn't even really been listening to him when he'd been telling me who was performing.

We'd come in late, deciding that neither of us felt particularly drawn toward the four piece girl bubblegum pop quartet who were supporting. We were more drawn toward the bar, putting our fake IDs into good use. We came in after the pink girls left, made our way to our seats. It didn't really register that we were surrounded by mainly tween and teen girls. I glanced at my watch, rolling my eyes at the typical performer coming on late. It was twenty minutes after the act was supposed to be on stage.

But then as the lights dimmed, the band began to play and _she_ walked on stage – all negative thoughts blew away. The neon lights at the back of the stage spelling out her name in giant letters lit up one by one.

S H A R P A Y

Sure, normally I was more into brunettes. And pink really wasn't my thing. But there was something about this girl, this woman… it was intoxicatingly powerful. I didn't know if it was the sultry look on her face, her long slim legs, or maybe it was just something about the confidence she exuded as she strutted about the stage.

I'd tugged at Chad's arm, asking urgently, "Dude, who is this chick?"

He looked at me as though I was insane. "It's Sharpay…"

"Yeah, I can see that. Am I supposed to know who Sharpay is?"

Chad shook his head at me, clearly disappointed in my lack of popular culture knowledge.

"She's like, the biggest celebrity in the world at the moment. She just won an Oscar for Best Supporting Actress, and her second album – the one this tour is for – is nominated for SEVEN Grammy's. _And_ she's playing a leading role in some Broadway show about… a bird or something. Good bye blue bird, I think."

"Bye Bye Birdie?"

"Yes! That's it. Hang on, how do you know the names of Broadway shows?"

"My mom loves musicals."

"Oh, that's right."

"Anyway, shhh, Sharpay is singing!"

For the next two hours, I was completely mesmerised. When we left the show, I stopped by the merchandise stand and bought the program, a t-shirt, a messenger bag, and a hat. That night I found myself Googling this incredible woman, pulling up a list of her films on IMBD. The next day I was at my local DVD rental store. I called in sick for work shifts, e-mailed teachers apologising for not attending class due to my 'flu'.

My entire world became about this woman and this woman alone.

Sharpay.

* * *

I'd been sceptical when I'd moved to Los Angeles for college, thinking that all the smog and celebrities wouldn't be up my alley. I remained relatively immune to it all for two years, I never ventured anywhere near Hollywood. But suddenly Los Angeles was the best place to be, with Hollywood and the surrounding areas of the San Fernando Valley and Beverly Hills my new favourite places to be. According to Popstar magazine, Sharpay had established her career in New York City but now that she was focusing more so on films than Broadway, she'd established herself in Los Angeles permanently. On weekends, I'd pull out my one decent casual outfit and make my way to Beverly Hills, and attempt to conspicuously wander around Robertson Blvd – which according to the net was the new hip place for celebrities to be seen. I'd seen photos of her lunching on Just Jared, so I knew that she was definitely involved in the scene. I found myself trying to befriend paparazzi thinking that the ultimate way of meeting Sharpay would be to get in with someone who knows her daily schedule.

By the eleven month anniversary of first seeing Sharpay in concert, I'd seen every single movie she'd been in, I owned every album, I'd watched all of her guest spots on TV, I'd obtained copies of every magazine she'd been featured in. I'd attended seven Sharpay concerts, I'd stood at the red carpet of movie premieres and awards shows; I'd gotten seat filler tickets and actually sat in the same room as her; I'd managed to be there for the taping of her guest spot on Leno and Ellen.

My basketball shrine of an apartment was an ode to Sharpay. After a stressful day of college classes followed by an exhausting shift at the grocery store where I supervised the after school teen crowd; I knew that I could come home, collapse onto my bed and immediately feel a warm comfort by being surrounded by the glorious presence that was her.

Sharpay.

* * *

One Friday night, I'd dragged myself away from my computer and was hanging out at Chad's place. The plan for the evening involved pizza, beer and an NBA game on television.

"Do you think it's possible to love someone you've never met?" I mused pensively out loud.

Chad nearly spit out his mouthful of pizza, hacking as he almost choked. Finally he managed to swallow and then looked up at me. "I'm sorry, I'm trying to eat my dinner and enjoy this game and you're here talking about _love?_"

"It's a serious question."

"That's what worries me. Seriously. Dude… I'm…. I'm getting worried about you."

"Worried? About me? Why?" I asked. I was really oblivious to what he was saying, not understanding his suggestion.

"Um, because as of not so long ago, you're 21. You're a 21 year old guy who has posters of a teen icon around his apartment. Playboy calendars I could handle, but these posters come from magazines with names like Popmoon and…"

"It's Popstar," I interrupted to correct him.

"Whatever, Popstar, Popmoon, PopIdon'tgiveafuck. You, my friend, should be out there getting drunk and getting laid and just getting something. I had to practically drag you here tonight. Instead, you sit around on chat forums and talk about how hot this plastic blonde singer is."

"Don't call her that!" I said defensively. "She is _not_ a plastic blonde singer. If you're gonna say shit like that, then I'm just going to leave coz…"

"No, don't go," Chad said with a sigh. "I hardly see you anymore."

"That's coz you won't come round to my place."

"Your place is weird! Her posters are _everywhere!_ And frankly, I'm sick of you talking about her. I just want to hear about anything other than her. Tell me about your college classes. Tell me about your basketball team. Or let me talk. I can tell you about the guy we caught who robbed a bank last week."

I rolled my eyes and folded my arms across my chest. I felt my Blackberry buzz in my pocket and I pulled it out, opening the e-mail I'd received. It was a notification from one of the websites I had signed up to receive regular Sharpay newsletters from. I scanned over the text, my eyes lighting up.

"Oh wow! There's…" I cut myself off, and literally had to bite my tongue to not continue. "Never mind."

Chad sighed. "Obviously you wanna tell me."

"Nah, it's not a big deal."

But I'd lied, it was a big deal, it was a very big deal.

I was finally going to get my chance.

With her.

With Sharpay.

* * *

Sharpay and I were destined to meet one another. I'd seen her countless times, but seeing her wasn't meeting her. It didn't provide her with the opportunity to get to know me for me. I knew it was a long shot, but I truly couldn't help but think that if she was given the opportunity to get to know who I really was, then maybe she would like what she saw. I hadn't really dated anyone in a while but back in high school and throughout my first couple of years of college I definitely got my fair share of attention from the ladies. So it was reasonable to believe that there was possibly something about me that she could find attractive.

She could be my soul mate, but she just didn't know it yet.

But finally, fate was providing the opportunity for our paths to cross in a direct meeting. Sharpay was one of the celebrity spokespeople for a charitable organisation; and that organisation was holding a formal fundraising dinner. The coveted role of Sharpay's date for the evening was being auctioned off, with the money raised to go toward the charity.

I knew that I simply had to win.

I was very strategic in my bidding. My father was a bit of a real estate nerd, his hobbies – other than everything basketball related – included browsing the weekend newspaper for the real estate guide and going to watch housing auctions 'just for fun.' So I'd been dragged along to enough auctions in a life time to understand the strategy involved. It was an online auction, I sat back and watched as the price slowly escalated. Evidently some people with some serious cash wanted this date.

Bad lack boys. Because Troy Bolton simply had to win. In fact I was so desperate to win that I sold my limited edition Los Angeles Lakers signed basketball to raise the cash. And then I blew away the competition, making a bid that was far beyond any bid that had been made so far.

Going, going, gone. Sold to the highest bidder, Troy Bolton.

* * *

There was only one problem with me winning this auction. It was a whole two weeks away, and two weeks was enough time to work me into a completely insane nervous frenzy. I was convinced that the date would be a complete disaster, that I wouldn't be capable of speaking or saying anything even vaguely intellectual other than 'oh my God you're fucking amazing.'

My new theory was that I needed a random, chance meeting _prior_ to the date. Then I could say 'oh my God, you're Sharpay! Hi, I'm Troy Bolton! We have a date next Saturday!'

Resultingly, my casual hangings out at the hip celebrity hang outs duplicated. I knew approximately what area she lived in, I knew she drank Starbucks. And so that was my new plan of attack. Catch her during her daily routine. And as I sat across from what I was presuming to be her local Starbucks in my car, peering out the window, I noted that I wasn't the only one watching the Starbucks intently. In fact, there were so many paparazzi around that it seemed I'd finally hit the pay dirt.

A black Audi pulled up out the front of the Starbucks into the loading zone. From the road side of the backseat, a dark haired girl carefully stood from the vehicle, glancing timidly to ensure that her door wasn't going to hit any oncoming traffic. She was wearing a tan trench coat which fell to mid thigh and splayed out at the bottom, as though a skirt beneath it was pushing the material out. Large, dark sunglasses covered her face; there was a pretty white bow in her dark brunette tresses.

I was so fixed on the girl who had stepped out that I almost missed it. My attention was drawn away, looking into the vehicle for that brief time that the back door was open as the dark haired girl stepped out.

And as I stared into the vehicle, there was no doubting what I was seeing.

In the backseat, there she was. Cell phone in hand, typing intently. It was the slightest of brief glimpses at her, but it was a glimpse nonetheless. I was frozen, my hands gripping the wheel as the paparazzi swarmed around the Audi, snapping photograph after photograph. I wanted to go over. I wanted to jump on the car. But something was stopping me. In fact, I found myself fixed not upon the car, but rather on the Starbucks behind. The dark haired girl had disappeared inside, and she was now returning with a take away coffee cup in her hand. She marched through the hordes of paparazzi, not intimidated by them in the slightest even as the flashes went off in her face. They were blocking her way of getting back into the car.

"Move!" the dark haired girl commanded. Her voice was so loud that all the way across the street I heard her.

Finally the paparazzi moved aside allowing her inside, and yet again I was given my glimpse of Sharpay as she reached out to take the coffee which was being handed to her. And with that, the door was closed and so too was my view.

And then I did what any self respecting Sharpay fan in my situation would do.

I followed the car.

* * *

Normally, I'm a fairly down to earth guy. Ask any of my basketball buddies who have absolutely no idea of any of this aspect of my life, and they would tell you that I'm totally chill. Not crazy at all. Just an average guy who needs to get laid.

But it seemed that my years of watching James Bond films had paid off and somewhere along the line I'd developed some sort of suave skill when it came to this sort of stuff. Dodging among traffic, following but trying to not appear as though I was following. And then remaining calm and collected when I realised that we were heading into a residential area and that Sharpay's car was heading back to her home. I kept driving past the house, committing its location to memory before I parked a safe distance away. Despite the security gate, I found my way inside – I scaled the fence. It wasn't even something I contemplated the legality or morality or logic of. I just did it. Something beyond my control just pulled me, it called out to me.

And so there I was, crawling through the bushes. Not exactly the most dignified moment of my life, but nonetheless the most thrilling. These were the bushes that Sharpay's gardener would prune. Just to his right, a few feet away, was her trash can. For a brief moment Iwondered whether maybe Ishould take a look, just because I could. But instead I just kept crawling. I didn't exactly have a plan – after all, there was a lack of logic to the whole situation. Every movement was entirely spontaneous.

Which was possibly why I didn't hear the person approaching me from behind. The first warning that anyone was in my company was a firm hand grasping onto my collar – and just between you and I, I let out a bit of a yelp. This was it. Some burly security guard was gonna kill me. The headlines tomorrow would read, _'Singing acting dancing superstar Sharpay saved from lurking serial stalker by bodyguard.' _

"Don't kill me!" I yelped, as the hand firmly pulled me up from my position crouched on all fours on the ground, bringing me to my feet.

I turned around, staring at the ground – and then noted the pair of slim, tanned legs and stiletto covered feet. My eyes travelled up the shins, to the knees, up the thigh, and then finally saw the lacy frill of a full black skirt, a small white apron, the folded arms – and the pissed off expression of who was undoubtedly the most intriguing woman I'd ever laid eyes on. Even without the trench coat and sunglasses, I recognised her immediately as the coffee carrying woman from Starbucks earlier who had captivated my attention, tearing it away from even Sharpay herself.

"You have precisely thirty seconds to convince me that I shouldn't call the cops. Start talking. What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded.

I wasted the first five seconds of my thirty seconds of pleading time staring at her. Staring at her plump, red lips, staring at the glistening tresses of her hair, such a dark brunette that they were almost ebony. I was a bit dazed, a bit confused – and a bit turned on. This girl… correction. This _woman_. This woman was dressed as a maid but she accompanied Sharpay out to fetch her coffee; and now she was in the backyard acting as some sort of security person? Not that I was complaining. A sexy girl in revealing maid's outfit barking out orders? Oh yes. There was definitely an appeal in that. Hence the being a bit turned on. And hence finding myself so transfixed within her glorious beauty that I was wasting my time.

"Well?!" she asked, prompting me, causing me to shake my head and break free of my haze.

"Um. Troy. Is me. I am Troy," I stuttered.

"Okay, that's great. Now I'm going to ask you once again, Troy, what the hell you are doing here? You now have fifteen seconds."

I managed to summon some sort of strength and composure from within and I took a deep breath.

"Look Miss…." I paused.

"Montez," she supplied warily.

"Miss Montez. Please don't make that call. I know how this looks but I'm really not some evil dangerous guy. Look at me! I'm like five foot ten."

She gave me the once over. "Five ten?" she asked dubiously.

"Okay, not even five ten," I conceded. "Seriously. What sort of threat do you think I pose?"

"Well, Troy, you've managed to infiltrate Miss Evans' private property without earlier detection so obviously you pose some sort of a threat."

I opened my mouth, about to respond directly to her comment, but then beyond my control – like so many of my actions had been that day – something else altogether came out of my mouth.

"You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

Miss Montez's hard eyes softened – no woman could remain completely immune to such an honest compliment. She cleared her throat, her eyes narrowing once more as she attempted to hide her reaction.

"Trying to charm your way out of trouble, are you?"

I shook my head. "No, miss. Just speaking the truth."

And if I needed any further evidence of just how honest I was being, physical proof of the affect she had upon me was growing and growing within my pants.

"Come inside with me," Miss Montez ordered.

Who was I to deny the request of a lady? All I could do was follow her as she walked, admiring the view of her short skirt bouncing around, her tanned legs on display.

"And stop staring at my ass," she added, glancing behind her.

* * *

I'd followed her inside of the oversized mansion, glancing around the luxury in awe. It was far beyond any luxury that I'd ever be surrounded in.

"If you're looking for Miss Evans, you can forget about it. While you were sneaking around in the bushes, she left again."

"You know, an hour ago I would have been devastated at that news but uh… right now I couldn't care less," I said, surprised at the words that had popped out of my mouth. "Right now I just want to know why you were so insistent that I come inside."

The harsh look was back on her face, her arms folded across her chest as she looked at me with a condescending glare upon her face. "Because I don't like standing around in the garden. Because paparazzi lurk around this house and I don't feel like having my photograph taken with an insane stalker fan. Because I still need to know how exactly you found this residence and be sure that you're not about to go and tell your little obsessive internet friends that you found Sharpay's pad and plaster her address across the internet."

I sighed. My mother had raised me with morals of being honest. Honesty had gotten me inside rather than just kicked out on the street on my ass. I decided to continue.

"I was about to go into Starbucks this morning…" I began, crossing my toes within my vans to cover up for the white lie among what was to be an entirely honest confession. "When I saw the Audi pull up and you came out and I saw Sharpay inside. Right there and then I thought you were really beautiful, by the way, even if you were across the street. And then you came back with Sharpay's coffee and then… I sorta followed your car," I confessed with a slight wince. "And then I parked up the street and scaled the fence and crawled through the bushes and then this really sexy, beautiful woman caught me and I think you're pretty much up to speed from there."

As I'd been speaking, her facial expressions had been relatively neutral, although I could see her lips twitching – likely at outrage at the fact that I'd been able to scale the fence without anyone realising sooner. From the entourage who accompanied Sharpay everywhere she went, I had no doubt that she lived surrounded by security and cameras and body guards whose jobs were to keep people like myself away. And then once again, with that simple compliment, her eyes softened.

"You're a fan of Sharpay's?" Miss Montez asked, an eyebrow raised.

I nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. I love her music and her movies and her commercials and her shows and… just everything. Which is why I would never sell her out, I have no intent of releasing her address to anyone."

"If you don't mind, I may just have some standard confidentiality papers drawn up. I can be on the phone and call a lawyer and have them faxed over within ten minutes," she said. "Nothing fancy, just some standard, you tell anyone her address or about any of today's events and we can sue you papers."

"I assure you that they aren't necessary but if it makes you more comfortable, go ahead," I said. "You're obviously just doing your job. What is your job, by the way? You're a coffee collecting, security guard in a sexy maid costume?"

"My role description is… flexible," she said ambiguously. "I do whatever is required at the time."

She held her finger up to me, indicating that she wanted me to be quiet. She reached out for the telephone extension on the wall in the fancy hallway, quickly dialling the aforementioned lawyer and arranging for the drawing up of the papers.

"They'll be faxed over in about ten minutes," she said calmly. "So if you'd like to follow me through this way, you can wait in the sitting room."

I obediently followed her, evidently walking a little too closely behind her because when she suddenly stopped I crashed into her from behind.

"Oh my God I'm sorry!" I exclaimed, reaching out to touch her arm. "Are you okay?"

She turned around, our bodies just inches apart, and looked up into my eyes. I breathed in sharply, suddenly hit by an overwhelming sensation of pure lust. I don't know if it was because she was so hot, because she was in a maid costume, because we were in Sharpay's house and I was just overcome with emotion – or a combination of all of the above – but in that moment I'd never felt so attracted to someone, I'd never so desperately _wanted_ someone.

And I'd been with enough women in my short life time to know when a woman was affected by me. There was no doubting the look in her eyes, there was no doubting the way her body had frozen – and she was still standing there. She hadn't moved, still standing inches from me, still looking up, our eyes connected, chests heaving with anticipation as our lips hovered so, so close.

"Not here," she hissed, and grabbed onto my hand, pulling me through one hallway, then down another. "And the cleaning storage room is right here," she said loudly, pulling me into a small storage area and slamming the door behind us.

And then her lips were on mine and I was in heaven. The kiss was desperate, lustful, a little sloppy but in the best of ways. She grasped onto the hem of my muscle t-shirt and pulled it over my head, tossing it into the corner.

"Why are we in here?" I murmured in the brief moment of our lips being separated, before leaning down to suckle at the flesh of her neck.

"There are cameras out there. I don't wanna get… ohh fuck… fired."

"K."

The ministrations of her slender, dextrous fingers – even through my black jeans – had succeeded in the formation of a massive erection which was now straining to be released from its prison. As our lips moved together in a furious dance, my hands were busy caressing and touching and feeling as much of her body as possible. This beautiful Goddess was giving herself to me and it was as though I didn't know where to begin, where I wanted to touch her more. My left hand was working on the zipper on the back of her dress, while my right hand was more preoccupied with making its way up her leg, dipping above the lacy frill at the bottom of the skirt and gradually climbing. Her own fingers had moved to grasp onto my fly, popping open the top button then the zipper coming down. My blue plaid cotton boxers failed to conceal the evidence of my raging erection – which she looked at with a sudden lust, a lust which nearly sent me over the edge.

"Oh fuck, Miss Montez…"

"Gabriella, it's Gabriella," she purred, before stepping forward and grasping at the waistband of my boxers.

And so here I was, in a closet inside of Sharpay's house. That's right, I, Troy Bolton, was inside of SHARPAY'S house. But it wasn't Sharpay who I was thinking about. It was this perfect specimen of a woman who was removing my boxers, who was kneeling on the floor, whose mouth had encased itself around my throbbing member.

"Oh fuck babe that's so good… Gabriella… you're so good at that…"

My hands ran through her dark tresses, pulling them back from her face. Either this woman was experienced or she had read a lot of erotic literature. She was skillfully working her way around my pubic area, taking my length in her mouth, swirling her tongue around the head, taking my balls within her mouth and suckling and teasing lightly, trailing her tongue teasingly over my frenulum. I was so close but I didn't want it to happen that way, absolutely not. I coaxed her back up, my penis standing fully erect. By now there was no doubting where this was going, no doubting what either of us wanted from the encounter. My hands slipped beneath her dress, thumbs hooking onto the waistband of her thong and pulling the material down, sliding down to assist her in stepping out of the scrap of black lace before trailing my tongue up her smooth leg. By the time I reached her thigh I could already smell the evidence of her sweet arousal. Her hands kneaded at my hair, causing me to look up.

"Don't bother with that," she said looking intently into my eyes. "I want you. Now."

I rose to my feet, our lips connecting again in a fiery kiss. I'd already unzipped the back of her dress and so now I pushed the material from her shoulders, revealing a lacy white push up bra which I made quick work of removing, freeing her pert, rounded breasts. I took a moment to give attention to each, suckling and licking at the swell of her breast and nibbling lightly at each of her nipples.

A moan escaped from Gabriella's lips, her slight hand encasing around my length and pumping slowly. "Troy… what did I say about wanting you _now?!_"

"You may have to be more specific," I murmured. "What exactly is it that you want?"

She gazed into my eyes, with each word of her following sentence being punctuated with a stroke of my cock. "I. Want. You. To. Fuck. Me."

I hesitated, thinking about my backpack which had been left out in the hallway, thinking about the wallet that was inside with a foil packet which hopefully would be useable given that I'd been carrying it around for a really long time.

"I'm on the Pill, forget the fucking condom," Gabriella said swiftly, somehow reading my mind. She softened, smiling appreciatively. "But thank you."

And with that, still with my jeans and boxers hanging around my knees, and Gabriella with the top half of her dress hanging down and the skirt still in place; in one swift movement my arms lifted her from the floor. Her legs wrapped around my waist, her arms clutching to my shoulders. I pressed her back up against the wall and in one swift movement my hard member slid into her wet, warm core.

We hadn't exactly been quiet thus far but if Gabriella was worried about being fired, then I could only hope that no other staff where anywhere nearby; because the throaty moan that escaped from her mouth and the grunt from my own mouth which simultaneously sounded were anything but quiet. And there was no holding back. I knew I wasn't going to last long – it had been too damn long since having sex (something Chad was right about) and I was supremely turned on, my cock driving up into her wet channel.

"Fuck… Gabriella… oh fuck…" I groaned. "I…"

"Oh god Troy… so good… oh my God…" she moaned.

"Gabriella… oh fuck Gabriella… fuck… baby..."

She was so tight, so warm, so perfect, everything about her. The way her head was tilted back, the look of elation on her face, the way her fingernails were digging into my shoulders as I pumped in and out and in and out. The way she would lean forward every so often and press her lips to mind in a steamy kiss. The way she was panting and mewling and moaning. The way that she arrived at the exact moment I needed her to, because I was so close to tipping over and all it took was the peak of her climax and the sound of her cries of undulated ecstasy and the feel of her vibrating and contracting around me to cause my own orgasm.

I slowly pulled out and gently placed her back onto the ground, keeping my hands upon her waist as she regained her footing. She wobbled slightly, clutching to the wall behind her, still with her head thrown back and a look of utter satiation on her face. I pressed a lazy kiss to her lips, a kiss which she was happy to receive and reciprocate.

"Shit I needed that," she breathed, her forehead resting against mine.

"Uh huh," I said numbly.

Gabriella slid to the ground, sitting with her head leaning back against the wall, her chest heaving as she attempted to regain her steady breathing. I followed suit, pulling up my boxers and jeans before sliding down to sit on the opposite wall across from her. Beside me was a mop and bucker to my right and a vacuum cleaner to my left.

"Go out to dinner with me next Saturday night," I breathed.

"I've always wanted to be asked out in a cleaning closet," Gabriella quipped, avoiding responding to my offer.

"Go out to dinner with me next Saturday night," I repeated.

"If this is your way of proposing that we meet up to have sex…"

"No, I want to have dinner," I insisted, but then added somewhat cheekily, "but the sex is always on the table if you want it to be. And after that, I suspect you'll want it to be."

"Cocky much?" she sighed. "Troy… you have a tattoo with my employers initials on your arm," Gabriella said, attempting to sound tactful as she referred to the pink heart that adorned my bicep. "Can you see how this whole dinner thing that you're suggesting with that hopeful glint in your eye could be problematic?"

I rolled my eyes. "It's not real. It's just a press on. It came free in one of those tween girl magazines." To demonstrate the point, I shuffled forward and then reached out for her hand. She allowed me to take it in mine and gently suckle at her index finger. I then placed the pad of her finger upon the tattoo, and she began to rub vigorously at the heart. Surely enough, it began to dissipate.

"See," I said softly.

"This is very complicated. More complicated than you realise," Gabriella said softly.

"Then let's uncomplicated it. I like you. And I know that you at least are intrigued by me. Are you or are you not available next Saturday night?"

Gabriella pursed her lips. "I'm available. Sharpay has this… dinner thing on."

"The charity event?" I asked.

"See, you know her schedule," she said, rolling her eyes.

"I'm Troy," I said emphatically.

"Yes, so you've told me."

"I'm _Troy. _Troy Bolton? I won the auction. I donated the money to that charity. And right now, I'm telling you that I want to go out to dinner with you next Saturday."

* * *

I never went to the auction. I auctioned off my role at Sharpay's date on EBay, made more money than what I paid, and then went looking in the Lakers memorabilia section.

And there it was, the very basketball that I sold. Being sold for only a fraction of the price more than I'd made for it.

Maybe it was fate.

Maybe it was something else.

Whatever it was, it was beyond my control, and it was a sign.

On Saturday night, I took Gabriella out to dinner. I learnt that her favourite colour is teal, that she was working for Sharpay because the job pays really well and she is trying to earn enough money to put herself through medical school, that she was multi lingual and a fluent speaker of three languages, that her favourite animal is a Tigon – not to be confused with a Liger – and that she has a seriously insane phobia of birds as a result of a childhood incident with her aunt's vicious cockatiel.

On Sunday I took down the posters from my walls.

On Monday, I met Gabriella for lunch, which became lunch-afternoon sex-dinner-dessert-more more sex-nap-even more sex-sleep-morning sex-breakfast.

* * *

It's funny how life can change so drastically, without your say and beyond your control. One day I was a regular college student at the University of Southern California in Los Angeles. Studying physiotherapy, playing basketball. The next, it changed forever.

Sometimes the strangest of paths can bring us to the place where we want to be, where we need to be, to the person who we're meant to be with.

Precisely two years after I'd attended my first Sharpay concert, I was relaxing on the couch in my living room with one of Sharpay's films playing on DVD. I found myself paying more attention to the beautiful brunette cuddled within my arms than the blonde on the plasma television screen.

"Hey, what are you looking at?" Gabriella asked, sensing my gaze upon her. "Do I have something on my face?" Her hand began to pat at the skin around her lips.

"No, you don't. I was just looking at you, thinking how perfect you look."

Gabriella scoffed. "Hardly. I'm not wearing any make up. And my sweat pants don't exactly do anything flattering for my figure. And my hair is a mess."

"Like I said, perfect."

My hand fell upon the smooth skin of her left shoulder just beside the strap of her tank top and ran down her arm. My thumb encircled the diamond ring which endowed her left ring finger before our fingers entwined and I brought her hand to my lips, pressing a sweet kiss to the back of her palm.

"Sometimes I think this last year has been a dream," Gabriella murmured. "I was working as a maid for the biggest superstar on the planet twelve months ago. Now I'm engaged to the newest recruit for the Los Angeles Clippers."

"I'd rather be playing for the Lakers."

"Yeah so what? You have to start somewhere. And your contract is only for two years. Anyway, that's not the point! I'm engaged to a future NBA star! How did I get here? Who or what brought us together?"

"Sharpay," I said with a smirk. Any other girl would probably find it weird or threatening that I spent a year of my life so crazily obsessed with another woman. Not Gabriella. It didn't bother her. She merely was silent, contemplating it.

"I prefer to think of it as fate."

I shrugged. "Whichever way, it's beyond our control. It was meant to be, and it happened, and I've had the best year of my life and it's only the first year of so many more to come."

"You're so lame."

"You love me."

Fate, kismet, destiny, lust, timing, perseverance. A little of all of the above.

I didn't care.

Because I had her.

And she had me.

And life could not be any better.

* * *

**AN – **And now that I have completed this insanity topped with cheese, review? Even to tell me that I've lost the plot. :-P –Dani xo


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